I’m not one to hold grudges but there are some things you can’t forgive. First it was the constant stare-downs. I wanted to stab a spear clear through him, just to make him go away for even a second. I would close my eyes, but I knew he was still there, judging and taunting. He’d mock me daily according to some fucked-up schedule of his. I’d had enough.

That’s why I started this war with the moon, a war that won’t end until one of us has been ripped from his orbit and flung into the far reaches of space.

Yesterday was election day. I went to the local high school to vote, but I was denied by one of the polling volunteers. I’d remembered to bring two forms of ID as well as a copy of my voter registration card, just in case the new voting laws made it necessary. When she still said no, I started to get slightly upset.

She claimed it had something to do with the string of severed ears I was wearing around my neck, but I’m pretty sure America stills allows for freedom of religion, so I don’t know what her deal was.

The gods gathered on Mt. Olympus for an important meeting. Grand Targhee, the Titan responsible for holding up the Earth, was threatening to go on strike. Some of the more warlike gods favored a quick and violent response, but the others wanted to consider his reasons.

After hearing his complaints, the gods agreed to annihilate Grand Targhee. The task of holding up the earth passed on to Arthur Leibowitz of Albany, New York.

You hear the droning, a high-pitched whistle that keeps interrupting your sleep. It’s your anthropology professor, bombinating about some god awful theory of ethnography that can’t possibly be as interesting as the dream you’re having.

And then you understand that life was all an illusion, that the reality may be that you are spending your last living moments in the Arctic on a scientific expedition, and as you die of exposure, the 100-mile-per-hour winds whistle in your ear.

In the tiny nation of Genesia, every three years a heterodixist is elected. This person is charged with rebelling against all that the Genesian culture stands for by opposing every public decision in the most obdurate manner possible. In this way, the citizens are comforted knowing that at least one person must always be calling their government to task.

The heterodoxist is considered one of the nation’s leading dignitaries. No one runs for the office willingly, but once elected, she is afforded great honor. The one drawback is that once the three-year term is over, the heterodoxist is publicly executed.

We’d been on the expedition for months when we encountered our first Frost Giant. He was massive, as large as twelve men put together and three stories tall. He set upon our horses first, breaking their backs and swallowing them whole while the men fled in panic. His hair was thick with rime and his clothes–let’s call them rags–hung off him like cheap Christmas ornaments.

Once the creature was done with the horses, he began on the men. His laughter filled the valley with thunder, but all I could think about was how he needed a proper bath.

Every morning, the grasshopper hopped from one blade of grass to the next eating as much as he could. Winter was approaching. In order to survive, he would stuff himself so much that he’d have plenty of nourishment to last until spring. He didn’t want to end up like his cousin, who paid the price for his laziness.

The moral of the story is never bite off more than you can chew.

Jordan was a drunk who made sure everyone had fun at his own expense. He was a clown.

Watch Jordan and Mandy every Friday night at 8:30 on NBC.

Basel stood in awe at the Road of Temples. There were spires and steeples and domes and banners of every color stretched across the horizon. Every religion and denomination was represented here, competing for the attention of passersby. A person couldn’t take a step in any direction without being accosted by a virtual army of ministers and holy men wishing to preach the one, true faith.

When Basel stepped onto the boulevard, there was a near stampede in his direction. He was the first visitor any of the clergymen could remember having seen. Most people avoided the Road of Temples.